had pretty much subsided into a steady avoidance of the family, so that none of the rumors had ever reached him. It was hardly possible, then, he thought, as he had seen or heard nothing of the outcasts, that they could be residing with Mr. Elmore. Jessy, too, had never named any such inmates to him: nor, this evening, when he had mentioned them in connection with the lady for whom she had expressed such interest, had she evinced a knowledge of their being. They had not, therefore, he concluded, repaired to Mr. Elmore’s; whither had they gone? Casting aside his reflections, after a considerable length of time, Stanley rose from his seat and began to prepare for bed. Walking to a window, he beheld a light in what seemed a house or room opposite. It seemed strange to him that there should be any dwelling situated in this manner in regard to the house he was in—since it was in the country. He was about to persuade himself that it was merely the reflection of his own room, when he saw standing facing him the aged man of the cave. Convinced now that his own imagination was at work, and had conjured up the likeness of one of those who had just occupied his thoughts to so great an extent, he turned away, and hastened to court repose. [_Conclusion in our next._ * * * * * THE MOUNTAIN SPRING. BY MISS MARY MACLEAN. [SEE ENGRAVING.] ON a sultry noon in summer, When the very air was still, Young Jessie from her cottage Came, sighing, to the rill:— Her graceless lover, Donald, With his laird, Sir Vasavour, And a troop of gallant gentlemen. Were hunting on the moor; And many a day and night had passed Since he had sought her door. But when the simple maiden Drew slowly toward the spring— So heavy with her loneliness, She had not heart to sing— She saw a stranger kneeling, And paused, with modest fears, But the cadence of her footstep Had reached his eager ears— And Jessie lay in Donald’s arms, While he kissed away her tears. [Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN SPRING. Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine by G. J. Anderson] * * * * * HAPPINESS—A SONNET. BY RICHARD COX, JR.